


vivamus

by chickencrust



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Infidelity, M/M, Self-Hatred, actually wait theres like One mention of each of those but Im too lazy to change the tags now, implied jeonghan/minhyuk, mentions of almsot everyone in svt, mentions of cheolhao, mentions of gyuhao, mentions of junhao, mentions of verkwan, mentions of wonhao, onesided chanhao, vague descriptions of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:59:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7158680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickencrust/pseuds/chickencrust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>xu minghao has (a boyfriend or two) no one. hansol is (taken) interested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	vivamus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [damnminghao](https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnminghao/gifts).



> SO i was sad over xmh and brie sent me the note project thingy (WHICH YALL SHOULD JOIN IF U HAVENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!) (check out @miinghao on twitter!!!) for him so OBVIOUSLY i owed brie my life  
> n i wouldnt stop saying it until she just asked me to write angsty mingsol so HERE U GO BRIE XOXO  
> (unbeta'd, as per usual. im also rly tired so grill me in the comments if u see typos please!)

** “dum vivimus, vivamus”  
** **[phrase]**

\- latin phrase meaning “while we live, let us live”.

* * *

 

yoon jeonghan hosted the best parties. yoon jeonghan got the best music, the most alcohol and the greatest people. minghao was glad to know him, even if only for said parties and the occasional hot makeout session, when jeonghan was too drunk to remember he has a boyfriend and minghao was drunk enough to ignore the guilt of knowing. they'd met a while ago, and jeonghan had doted on him ever since.  
minghao didn't want to blame jeonghan for anything. he hadn't actually messed minghao up; he'd managed that on his own, but minghao didn't like feeling responsible. jeonghan’s name in minghao's phone was ‘enabler’.

 

minghao doesn't really feel comfortable. in his clothes, in his skin, in his bones, he feels out of place, unfitting. undeserving. he’s disgusted. he realises his left shoelace was untied, but he doubts he'll trip, so he ignores it and fiddles with the right sleeve of the flannel he’s wearing. it’s soft, probably expensive. the smell of alcohol hangs heavy in the air and minghao isn't sure if it is his own breath, someone else's or just fumes from the spilled drinks in the house. it makes minghao nauseous, but it also fogs his mind and memories until everything is blurry (he loves it).  
“you shouldn't be here,” he tells the boy holding his hand. lee chan, a young dancer who throws heart eyes in minghao's direction and holds his hand softly, lacing their fingers together and making minghao painfully aware of the contrast between chan’s sturdy, warm hand and his own cold and bony fingers.  
“come on, hyung,” chan says and his voice has that whiny tone that revealed his age (too young for minghao to ruin).  
“no, chan,” minghao is almost pleading now, he doesn't need any more guilt, doesn't need to fuck up anymore, “we can hang out later. go home.”  
chan wants to argue, his brows are furrowed and minghao _knows_ he hates being babied like this, when he has heard minghao started partying at an even younger age, but minghao doesn't need this. doesn’t want to deal with fucking up chan. doesn’t need the guilt of creating another one of himself. chan opens his mouth and minghao feels the bass reverberate in his skull and closes his eyes. the lights flash through his eyelids. it looks like fireworks and minghao’s head hurts.

“dino? dude, what are you doing here? aren't you, like, seventeen?”  
an unfamiliar voice interrupts any complaints and minghao is tempted to open his eyes, but instead he lets his head fall back and tried to sink into the couch.  
“vernon! hi, i got in with hyung!” chan was all excited again, has totally forgotten about minghao's pleads. minghao is blinded when he first lets his eyes slide open again and he shakes his head a little.  
“hi, i’m choi hansol,” the stranger says and minghao tries to will away the dizziness to focus on him. a pretty boy, with messy hair and bright eyes. “you can call me vernon.”  
“nice to meet you, hansol,” minghao says and he can see hansol’s grin widen. he looks back at chan. “and you should get out. run along, chan, before i start serenading you with ‘does your mother know’.”  
chan chews at his lips, but gets up from the couch and pulls gently at minghao's hand. minghao unlaces their fingers and pretends not to see the disappointment in the young one's eyes, the furrow of his brow and the way his hand drops like dead weight, back against his side.  
“see you later, chan,” minghao says and smiles (kind of).  
“see you later, hyung,” chan responds and looks away.

“so, you and chan, huh?” hansol asks after a couple of minutes of tense silence. minghao's head has fallen back against the couch. his throat is tight and his chest tighter.  
“no, not really,” minghao responds and hopes hansol won't question further. he picks at the flannel sleeve. he can _feel_ hansol’s gaze on him, his lips, his throat, his chest, his hips.  
“really? then you and who?” hansol continues and minghao sighs. he thinks of mingyu, who is probably going to text him soon and ask where his fancy flannel shirt was. seungcheol, who might even be at this party, might kiss him and say ‘i missed you, babe’. wonwoo, who’s still waiting for a call back. junhui, who has probably figured it out by now.  
“me and no one,” minghao says and sits up a little straighter. his head spins, he ignores it. hansol’s eyes are locked on his lips and he licks them, putting on a show. it takes another swig of funky liquor (minhyung? min _hyuk_? had handed it to him earlier when he was talking to jeonghan and it tasted like cat vomit and rainbows) for him to swallow the bile clogging his throat. it works well enough, so when hansol asks if he wants to dance and his eyes gleam, minghao gets up with a smile.

it’s filthy when they dance; hansol’s lips are on his neck and his hands are on his hips and minghao wonders if music could be classified as sexual. it's some american song, he doesn't really understand the lyrics, but the beat is downright _arousing_.  
“i thought i saw you with seungcheol hyung last week,” hansol says and minghao wishes he could pretend not to hear it, but hansol is literally breathing into his ear.  
“you might have,” minghao replies without missing a beat, “at the mall, right? you were with seungkwan?”  
hansol doesn’t say more and minghao knows he’s won the whatever-it-was. they continue dancing for a while, all hands and lips and teasing touches until hansol is just grinding on minghao and minghao almost wants to say no, wants to stop before it goes too far for once, but hansol moans into his ear; “can i fuck you, hyung?” and he’s gone.

foreplay to ‘ _homewrecker_ ’ by marina and the diamonds; blood vessels breaking under his skin, tight between hansol’s teeth. his skin was burning hot, pure _hellfire_ spreading like an inferno wherever hansol touched, grazed, trailed his fingertips. he wondered if it was visible; if his skin turned red. maybe the magma in his veins would stain through layers of flesh and muscle and tissue and make him glow.  
fucking to ‘ _problem_ ’ by natalia kills; scratch marks on his hips (and matching ones on hansol’s back) and bruises on his neck and when he looks into hansol’s eyes, he feels like he can see himself in the reflection in those blown out pupils, that dark gaze. wrecked, debauched, _depraved_. he’s disgusted. the repulsion is making him lightheaded and he looks away, lets hansol have his way with him, lets the self-aimed detestation fill his head with cotton and syrup until his brain feels mushy and hansol is sleeping next to him.  
waking up to ‘ _kiss me_ ' by ed sheeran; sweat barely cool on his skin, hansol still fast asleep. it’s probably been a couple of hours, jeonghan must be trying to lull those who haven’t left to sleep. minghao feels his hip ache, his chest ache, his head ache. he slips out and puts his clothes on and there’s bruises all over him, he feels ruined. he looks back at hansol and almost wants to blame him too, but it’s all minghao’s fault and he knows that.

 

he feels around for his phone and thank god, 7% battery. enough to text soonyoung to pick him up. ‘ _do u hav my shirt??? xoxo_ ’ says a text from mingyu. he ignores it. ‘ _r u @ jhns baby??’_ says one from seungcheol. minghao doesn’t care to open the two from wonwoo; he’ll message him back when he’s showered. it’s still like three in the morning. he types up a message to soonyoung, a simple ‘han's place’ and turns his phone off. hansol somehow looks frail and lonely and all that shit; all by himself in jeonghan’s giant bed. minghao thinks he should just go back to seungkwan, go back and be loving and nice and fuck someone who spends the night. he feels his stomach toss and twist and turn and he leaves before he can start vomiting on the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> hoe!minghao, wonhao, gyuhao, cheolhao, junhao, so many good things that i love (missing soonhao and soohao but Hey i had to chill at some point)
> 
> also feel free to beat me up in the comments--


End file.
